Dirty
by Dollymop
Summary: SLASH. Holmes has a dream about Lord Blackwood.


A/N: Yes, yes. Of _course_ I'm still working on THW. Don't worry your pretty little head. This is just a side project. I was feeling a bit blah so I decided to distract myself with smut xD Nothing special. Just an excuse to write porn about Lord Blackwood I think xD

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Dirty

Holmes didn't feel uneasy being left alone with Lord Henry Blackwood. There were many people who would. Holmes didn't see there was any reason to be concerned. There were bars between them, and Holmes didn't believe in magic. He didn't believe people could cause things to happen within explanation. Vanishing prison bars didn't compute. Not in Holmes's mind. Blackwood wasn't the type to jump at him with a sharp object or try and strangle him. He was too calculated, too intelligent for such methods. Therefore, Holmes told himself for the umpteenth time, there was _nothing _to be uneasy about. At all.

He leant against Blackwood's bars and could feel his own heart beating rapidly in his chest. He didn't know whether he had leant there to demonstrate his courage and aloofness or just because he could. Sometimes he did things that he couldn't even explain to himself.

He pushed his pipe between his lips, forcing himself to hold it firmly even though he felt like his limbs had turned to gelatine.

The pipe loosened and almost fell when he felt a body behind him. So close he could almost feel every crevice of Blackwood's body against his. He froze where he was. His brain was telling him to move, to move before Blackwood's hands found his throat. But his body would not comply. He felt hot breath against his ear. He could hear Blackwood hissing things in his ear that he didn't understand.

Then he felt a hand on his waist. He should have walked away then, but he didn't. He stayed, almost inviting the man to go further. He felt the man's lips graze the curve of his neck and goosebumps exploded over his skin. He should have been disgusted, or at least alarmed but he felt instead a mixture of surprise and... something else which he could not so easily indentify. Something which settled hotly and thickly in his stomach, pulsing slightly.

"Holmes..." Came a voice low and almost growling.

He heard a whimper, a weak almost pleading whimper and realised with a fierce, shamed blush that it had come from him. He didn't know that such a wanton noise could come from his cold and untouched form.

There was a grumbling laugh and the hand on his waist travelled lower, along his thigh, slowly and agonizingly down his pelvis to the growing mound between his thighs. He pressed his head hard against the bars and whimpered again, helplessly. He needed to move. Blackwood wasn't keeping him there against his will. He was _staying_. And he was hard. He wanted it. His body wanted it, though his mind was rebuking him for his low carnality. Was he really just like every other man? Completely victim to his own lustful desires and needs?

Blackwood's lips travelled up the curve of his neck to his ear and, gently and almost teasingly, he felt Blackwood bite his earlobe. A strange, powerful emotion exploded around his pubis and he felt his knees go slightly weak. He doubted he could have moved now even if he had wanted to.

The hand which had settled on his crotch began to rub him. His hardness was aching slightly in his trousers; it felt as though it was throbbing,_ begging_ to be touched and teased.

"P-please." He heard the word fall unsteadily from his lips before he could stop himself.

Blackwood laughed. His lips pressed against his ear. "Do you want me to touch you, Holmes? Right here in this damp, _dirty_ prison? Like some common whore?"

Holmes cock throbbed in its constraints; he arched his back against Blackwood, working himself against the criminal's hand. Blackwood kept him agonizingly close but he wouldn't rub any harder than what he knew was necessary to keep Holmes on tenterhooks.

Holmes took a shuddery breath. "Touch me." He breathed. "Please, touch me."

Blackwood chuckled and slowly he moved his hand up to Holmes's quivering pubis. He slid two fingers gently down Holmes's trouser front, stroking him up and down the sensitive line of his pubic bone. Holmes writhed against the bars, finding himself rubbing against Blackwood's body almost against his will. If he hadn't been out of his mind with arousal, he would have been ashamed at his current position; rubbing himself against Lord Blackwood like a bitch in heat.

"Harder, harder- oh God I can't stand it." Holmes moaned, almost thrusting against Blackwood's fingers.

Blackwood abruptly extracted his fingers. Holmes almost keened in disappointment. "Stay very still." Blackwood said quietly. "And do as I say. And perhaps I'll let you come, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes shivered in anticipation. "Yes, Lord Blackwood." He said humbly.

"You're a quick learner." Blackwood smirked.

The fingers returned. This time he ventured deeper inside Holmes's trousers. Holmes gasped, throwing his head back in surprise and pleasure.

"I want you to undo yourself." Blackwood said calmly. "As I cannot do it myself."

Holmes found himself, almost mechanically obeying him. He undid the buttons on his trousers and undid his belt. Without the support, his trousers immediately slid down his thighs.

He almost cried out when his cock, now fully hardened and weeping for attention was finally released. He didn't consider the consequences if a guard were to walk in on them at this moment. He was overcome with need. Need for Blackwood's fingers.

"Mm, such a big boy." Blackwood said with a smirk, running his hand gently up and down Holmes's cock.

Holmes didn't reply, his throat and lips were dry as paper. He stayed still, remembering Blackwood's earlier orders.

"Good boy." Blackwood said quietly, not tightening his grip.

Holmes pressed himself harder against the bars. His eyes were damp with desperation. "Please, Blackwood. Please." He said a in a shaking voice. "Touch me. Rub me. I n-need it. So badly-

Blackwood laughed contemptuously and to Holmes's dismay his hand left his crotch. Holmes's cock twinged in the cold. "But what will you give me in return, Holmes?" He ran his tongue up the rim of Holmes's ear and Holmes's eyes widened; a trickle of moisture tumbled down his cheek. "What will you give me for making you orgasm into my hand?" His voice was barely more than a growl and it was driving Holmes insane.

"Anything." Holmes hissed before he could consider whether it was wise to promise Lord Blackwood _anything_.

Blackwood laughed again. "Such an obliging little whore." His fingers twitched over Holmes's lower stomach. Holmes knew Blackwood wanted to touch him again, almost as much as Holmes wanted to be touched.

He could feel Blackwood's bulge pressing against his spine, his own bridled desire. Blackwood was better at forcing his desire inwards than inexperienced Holmes.

"I wonder what you could possibly offer me?" Blackwood growled, sliding his fingers around Holmes's throbbing member again.

Holmes gasped, his back arching against his will. "Anything." He repeated in barely louder than a whisper.

He felt Blackwood shiver slightly against him, betraying his own desire for the first time. He immediately stiffened himself against Holmes's back. "What will you give me?" He said again, stroking Holmes gently up and down his length. Not firmly enough to bring Holmes to orgasm but teasing him, torturing him.

"_Anything_." Holmes hissed, meaning it. He was so close. He needed Blackwood's touch. He needed his hand. He didn't care what Blackwood wanted. He would give it to him.

"We'll see." Blackwood said.

And finally his grip tightened. Holmes moaned, his eyes rolled back on their own accord. He pushed his hips upward against Blackwood's hand.

"Ugh-Ooh... _Oh_ Gods." He moaned, barely conscious that he was speaking at all. "B-blackwood- Oh- Oh-

Blackwood smirked against Holmes's neck, hastening his movements. Holmes was already so close; he was leaking pre-cum down himself and rocking against Blackwood in desperation.

Holmes found one of his hands twisting itself around one of the bars behind his head. His nostrils were full of the smell of dirt, Blackwood's scent, the scent of his own excitement. His mind had not been wiped clean as any normal man's might have been; instead a quick succession of thoughts was racing through his dazed, pleasure drunken mind. What would Watson say if he could see Holmes now as he was-

_That_ was far too mortifying to even consider.

"F-faster." He groaned, barely knowing how he was keeping himself upright.

He wondered if Blackwood would ignore him or punish him for making demands but to his surprise (if he had still been able to even feel surprise at that point) the Lord simply chuckled and obliged, rubbing harder and faster.

Holmes bit his lip hard to keep from crying out. He didn't want to be caught. Not now. He was so close. Any moment he would lose complete control of himself.

The pressure and heat were building unbearably. He heard a needy whine fall from his own lips. He was only vaguely aware of being pressed painfully against the bars, of the throbbing of his own head, of the strange roaring in his ears. He closed his eyes tightly, furrowing his brow against the confusion of sensations.

Finally, when he could hardly bare it any longer- he was overcome. He threw his head back against the bars, the pain barely registering as ecstasy racked his body. He cried out without being able to stop himself. He felt the moisture burst between his legs, hot and thick.

He tossed his head helplessly from side to side, overwhelmed and devastated by his rapture.

His eyes finally flew open and everything swam before his eyes. He could feel the bars pressed uncomfortably against his head, feel the warm fingers still around himself but the smell. The smell was different. It was wrong.

Blackwood's strange, pungent, foreign scent was gone.

Holmes's head was spinning, he felt almost nauseous with dizziness.

He closed his eyes again, moaning in confusion.

He stayed perfectly still, letting the sensations fall like puzzle pieces into place. He felt warm. He was lying somewhere soft. He could smell tobacco and dust and gun powder. He could hear passing traffic, footsteps, voices-

He opened his eyes again slowly. The room came swimming into view. His room. His own bedroom. His head was pinned uncomfortably against the bars of his bed.

He unhooked his fingers from his own now flaccid manhood and pulled them out of his pyjama trousers. He felt a blush burn his cheeks as he felt the damp pool about his crotch.

Slowly and painfully he straightened up, rubbing his stiff, aching neck.

He stared at his parted legs under the blankets. Hesitantly and very slowly, he pulled back the covers. There was a patch of wet about the crotch of his pyjamas. He may not have been particularly experienced when it came to such matters but if he wasn't very much mistaken he had just had some sort of sexually charged dream about _Lord Blackwood._

He shivered slightly (in what he told himself was disgust).

"Holmes!"

He jolted upright, throwing the blankets back over himself at Watson's voice. He didn't reply.

There was a knock at the door. Watson's firm, purposeful three raps.

"Holmes." Came Watson's stern voice. "Get up this instant. It's far too late to be lounging in bed."

"C-coming!" Holmes called back, wincing at his choice of words.

He tumbled out of bed and stared about the room for a clean pair of trousers.

"Why me?" He grumbled, waddling over to his dresser and grimacing at the feel of the sticky mess between his thighs.

End


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